


Bitter Coffee, Burnt Caramel

by BirdofFire



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Coping, Depression, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdofFire/pseuds/BirdofFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After London, Darcy Lewis moves to New York and starts working in a coffee shop, looking to leave all things alien, god-like and superhero behind her... only for Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers to walk into said shop one spring morning. </p><p>Darcy would say she's somewhat displeased, but that would still only be the second biggest understatement of the year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter Coffee, Burnt Caramel

**Author's Note:**

> This work is un-betaed. I will return throughout the day to make corrections as and if necessary.
> 
> NOTE: 1) I have yet to visit NY, so please excuse me if the geography is a little off despite my best efforts.  
> 2) The above warnings aren't there for my health, my loves.

 

  “Ally?” Darcy called. “A caramel frappuccino for Ally?”

When a brunette stepped forward, Darcy handed over the medium-sized cup. The woman smiled a thank-you, but Darcy had already returned to the coffee machine. There were so many orders that needed to be met that Darcy was just glad that Alex had actually shown up on time. Alex, a grad student at NYU, was both unreliable _and_ lazy. He was currently at the till, taking orders faster than she could fill them. It was almost like he _wanted_ her to fail.

  “Alex!” Darcy called over her shoulder as she mixed a doubleshot white chocolate espresso. The small white cup heated quickly, burning her hands, and she hissed in pain. “Fuck! Alex!” Alex finally turned, his guileless green eyes wide. “Stop taking them faster than I can make them!” 

  “The line’s out the door,” he replied slowly. The customer at the till shifted impatiently, but Darcy ignored him.

  “And there’s still only one of me,” she snapped. “Slow your roll.” Alex flashed a thumb’s-up and turned back to the impatient customer, his shoulder-length dreadlocks whipping around his face despite their being tied back.

Rolling her eyes, Darcy went back to working the machine and making up espressos, frappucinos, macchiatos and cappuccinos. She _did_ hear fewer orders being taken, though, which was a relief. It was only her and Alex scheduled to work today, and God knew she didn’t feel like trusting him to do anything but take orders and count change today.

Frappa Joe was always busiest at this hour, and that was saying something. The shop had hundreds of customers a day. The second its doors opened at seven in the morning, bankers, lawyers, students and commuters all rushed in, clamouring to get their fix; Darcy could relate.

The coffee shop, owned by a thirty-something Colombian woman named Lorena, was quietly known in the area for being one of the best in the city, and the queues always stretched out the door from seven to ten in the morning.

At Lorena’s request, Darcy had gotten there even earlier than usual. Olivia, who’d worked at the shop for over a year, had skipped out on the rest of her shifts after scoring a Broadway gig. Lorena had four workers on call and no one else had been free, so despite the fact that Darcy had worked all day yesterday, her boss had begged her to come in this morning as _well_ as this afternoon. After being promised time-and-a-half, Darcy had agreed. To be honest, she would have done it anyway. While she didn’t really need the money, she didn’t really have anything else to do.

So here she was in the _you-can’t-be-serious_ hours of the morning, making coffee and serving the pastries and cakes that had helped make Frappa Joe so famous. Lorena had already been and gone. She always came in at five am to make her pies, pastries and cakes from scratch and then headed back to hers to sleep for a bit before returning in the afternoon.

And Darcy had to give her props because Lorena’s hard work paid off. The glass display cases were always empty by eleven, and anyone that wanted some of Lorena’s baked goods had to return a few hours later when she’d had the chance to make more.

Alex had hidden a slice of chocolate torte next to the cash register where it couldn’t be seen by the customers, and he’d been sneaking pieces of it all morning. As splashes of hot coffee and cocoa burned her hands, Darcy felt herself growing even more impatient with him. Her tiredness was also catching up with her a lot sooner than she’d expected, making matters even worse.

  “Shit!” Darcy swore as she barelyavoided being scalded by a shooting cloud of steam. It was the third time in the last half-hour.

  “You ‘kay?” Alex asked. Darcy flapped an irritated hand in his direction as she stepped past him and handed the Suit her drink.

  “Thanks,” the Suit chirped. Darcy ignored her and went to fill the next order. An hour later, things had finally started slowing down and Darcy finally got a chance to look somewhere other than the damn coffee machine.

The coffee shop, all dark wood, comfy chairs and complementary colours, was half-full, with customers seated and enjoying their drinks and baked goods. There were now only a handful of people still waiting to order. Alex was humming to himself, an irritating little tune that always raised the hairs on the back of Darcy’s neck.

Gritting her teeth now, Darcy swiped her forearm across her forehead and reminded herself of the reasons why killing Alex would be a bad idea. Having worked with him for almost three months, she’d had plenty of time to compile a list, though more recently, the pros seemed to outweigh the cons.

Darcy took a deep breath and continued making up the last few orders, until finally, the last one was complete. She turned to face Alex, who was leaning against the counter, finishing the last of his torte.

  “I’m gonna take my break,” she told him, removing her apron and hanging it haphazardly on the hook next to the door. Not waiting for a reply, Darcy opened the kitchen door and stepped inside, slamming it shut behind her.

Darcy leaned heavily against the door and inhaled/exhaled for several long moments, before tiredly dragging herself over to one of the stools. Lorena kept a clean kitchen and every counter was wiped down. There were a few containers still out, but Darcy knew her boss would be using them when she arrived. No need to move them.

It seemed that Andrea and Lucy were also taking their breaks, because the dishes were all washed and the kitchen was empty. Darcy sighed in relief and rubbed at the side of her temples.

The medium-sized kitchen smelled of vanilla, coconut and a variety of the sweetest smelling spices. Darcy loved coming in here. It was often the quietest place in the shop.

Darcy put her forehead on the cool counter now and took another deep breath. She shut her eyes for a while, but when the seductive tendrils of sleep started trying to pull her down, she had to open them. Sleep hadn’t come easy last night; Darcy had maybe gotten three hours.

Darcy raised her head and glanced at the clock on the far wall.

Her break was just about up. With a heavy sigh, Darcy got up, dragged herself out of the kitchen and returned to work.

…

Lorena arrived about an hour later. After blowing a kiss Darcy and Alex’s way, she headed straight into the kitchen. A short while later, that gorgeously tempting baking smell wafted into the shop and several customers looked up hopefully.

It being lunchtime, the queue was picking back up again, leaving Darcy and Alex no time to talk. Not that they would have, anyway. In the three months they’d been working together, she and Alex had exchanged only a few non-work related sentences.

By the end of the day, Darcy’s arms ached and the thick stench of coffee was making her nauseated. Her stomach was also complaining, and she rubbed at it absentmindedly as she sprinkled some chocolate on a cappuccino.

When the last customer finally left, Darcy’s breath abandoned her and she slumped, exhausted, against the back counter, mere inches from the coffee machine. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alex step up and start to mix himself a drink.

  “You want one, Darcy?” he asked cheerfully, reaching for another mug. Too tired to answer, Darcy shook her head. A moment later, she heard the _swish_ of the kitchen door swinging open. The light scent of freesias followed it, and Darcy glanced up to see her boss. Dressed in a colourful kaftan (despite it being colder than a fresh fuck outside), Lorena was even shorter than Darcy. Wisps of dark hair escaped her bun and her face was flushed from the heat of the kitchen. She was striking rather than beautiful, and had a warmth to her that was rare in this city.

In the short time she and Darcy had known each other, she’d become one of Darcy’s favourite people.

   “Darcy.” Lorena greeted with a smile, her voice a warm playground of accented tones. “Thank you so much for coming in today.” Darcy tried to return the smile through the headache that was creeping on.

  “It’s all good, Boss Lady,” she replied. Alex came to stand beside her, and Darcy’s nerves itched as the incessant sounds of his chewing reached her ears.

  “I am thankful to you as well, Alex.” Lorena beamed at the blond man.

  “It was nothing, Lorie.” Alex’s grin was audible. “I didn’t have class today anyway.”

  “Still, I’m thankful. Olivia really left me ‘in the lurch’, as you say.” Lorena rolled her eyes at herself in good humour. “Some Flan De Coco - as a thank-you,” she said, and held out her arms. Darcy noticed that they held two small Tupperware containers. Alex immediately seized one with a raspberry-stained grin and loud thanks, while Darcy only eyed the other container. She briefly considered how best to refuse it, but a glance at Lorena told her it wouldn’t go over well. Darcy’s boss often loudly worried about her eating habits, and unless Darcy wanted another lecture, she’d better take the container.

Darcy accepted the container with a tight smile.

…

The walk home was a slow one. There was still a chill in the air, despite it being the end of March. Darcy was so tired, though, that she hardly felt it. Her fellow sufferers were hunched over against the wind, scarves half-covering their faces and coat sleeves pulled over their hands.

It took Darcy almost half an hour to make it home. The buildings got steadily shorter and the sky even darker as she did so. She rushed into the pre-war building, nodding at the doorman, and immediately hit a wall of heat. Darcy gratefully rubbed her hands together on the short elevator ride up.

When she finally made it into her apartment, Darcy quickly closed the door, triple-locked it and leaned her forehead against its cool surface for a moment. Glad that she’d left the heat on, she took another deep breath and removed her coat. She hung it on the hook beside the door, and then took her bag with her to the kitchen - a small one with a black-and-white chequered floor.

The apartment itself resembled a converted loft, with high ceilings and exposed brick. Being in the MeatPacking District, it was a little more expensive than she’d initially hoped, but as Darcy had wanted somewhere nice and without roommates, she’d figured it was worth it.

In the kitchen, a couple of boxes remained on the counter, and Darcy pushed them aside to get a mug out of the cupboard. She then quickly filled the kettle with water and turned it on, her bag still slung over her shoulder. Her stomach grumbled again, louder this time, but Darcy barely registered it, instead grabbing some spiced apple teabags from the same cupboard. While the kettle boiled, she removed a bottle of water from the fridge for later.

When her tea was finally ready, Darcy walked the short distance to the living room couch. The apartment’s previous tenant had left it there for some reason; Darcy couldn’t see anything wrong with it, so she figured they hadn’t wanted to cart it downstairs.

The couch was close enough to the window for Darcy to be able to see people still making their way home and restaurants starting to open for the night, but without even a glance, she grabbed her laptop from the cushion beside her.

Aside from the necessary, Darcy hadn’t bought a TV or much furniture yet, so the living space was pretty spartan. The far wall was an exposed-brick one, while all the others were bare and white. The wooden floorboards were also free of any rugs or tables, though several boxes lined the edges of the room. The couch was the only item of furniture in the space.

Darcy took her bag, laptop and tea into her bedroom, which wasn’t much better than the living room. Inside was a bed and bedside table, while a chair leaned against the far wall. Darcy put her mug on the bedside table and dumped the laptop on the bed, before grabbing her pillows and propping them up against the wall. She then sat leaning against them and retrieved her laptop.

Darcy’s phone remained silent beside her as she aimlessly browsed the internet. The spiced apple tea grew cold as she spent a couple of hours carefully scanning the news and doing fuck-all on Tumblr.

It was past midnight before she finally decided to go to bed. She didn’t have work the next day, but she figured it was time to get into a good sleeping pattern. God knew the one she’d had for months wasn’t working for her.

The blinds hanging at the window were another gift from the previous tenant, and Darcy closed them before climbing back into bed and shutting her eyes.

…

Darcy woke with a harsh gasp and damp, twisted sheets a few hours later. Her hands trembled as she _inhaledexhaledinhaledexhaled_ in vain, her heart banging painfully against the cage of her ribs. Every limb shook though they were otherwise frozen; her breaths were erratic and agonisingly irregular.

_Breathe, Darcy. Breathe. BREATHE!_

Darcy gave a huge gasp, finally filling her lungs with air. Milliseconds later, oxygen, sweet and pure, flooded her airwaves. Her eyes closed in relief as her limbs unclenched. Shocks of pain pinched at her hands a moment later, and Darcy looked at her palms to see that her nails had dug into them so hard that there was blood and torn skin in crescent shapes.

  “Fuck,” she swore breathlessly.

Her breaths still came quickly for another few minutes, until they finally slowed and Darcy got the chance to grab her phone and look at the time.

_03:27_

…

Darcy didn’t even bother trying to go back to sleep. Instead, she spent the rest of the day with a few sandwiches, a bottle of soda and the best boyfriend this side of Ryan Gosling – Netflix.

She only left her bed to answer nature’s calls and get another bottle of soda.

…

The following day, Darcy was so tired that for the first time since she’d moved to the city, she took a taxi to work. The soothing rumble of the engine almost sent her to sleep, and it was only when the driver reached out a hesitant hand to shake her that she realised they’d arrived.

  “Sorry,” she apologised automatically. “Thanks.” After paying the driver (and adding a generous tip for additional services, because come on – it was only polite), she pulled herself out of the taxi. Despite the early hour, the Flatiron District was already coming alive with offices and shops starting to open for the day. Suits pounded the sidewalk, many of them looking so stressed that they barely even seemed to notice the shitty weather. Darcy wasn’t one of them. The chill in the air was so bitter that the few yards she had to walk seemed a mile. She huddled into her coat, cursing herself for forgetting her gloves _yet a-fucking-gain_ , and walked into Frappa Joe.

Musical-sounding Spanish floated out of the kitchen, letting Darcy know that Lorena was currently whipping up her magic. She’d had some of her boss’ desserts when she’d first taken the job, so she knew first hand just what kept customers flocking to Frappa Joe. Darcy’s nose twitched as the beguiling scents of vanilla, cinnamon and apple wafted from the kitchen.

Lorena called from the kitchen again, and Alex, who was already at the till, replied in Spanish. There were some days Darcy wished she’d bothered to learn the language when she was in New Mexico. At least then she’d have something to show for everything that happened there.

And everything that happened after.

Darcy’s teeth unconsciously gritted as she swallowed hard. Before she could recover her composure, though, Alex noticed her and smiled in that clueless way of his.

  “Darcy!” he exclaimed, raising a small glass of Postre de Natas into the air. “Want some?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” Darcy’s answer was instinctive, belying her stomach’s growls. She’d loved that dessert when Lorena had first given her some a few months ago. It was like whipped cream and sheer heaven mixed with a healthy helping of rum.

  “ _All the best desserts have alcohol in them,”_ Lorena had said, dark eyes alight with laughter. After tasting it, Darcy had loudly agreed.

For whatever reason, though, Darcy wasn’t really in the mood for it. Consciously unclenching her fists, she quickly walked past Alex into the kitchen.

In here, the gorgeous baking smells were even stronger. The room was beautifully warm, and Darcy sighed at the sensation. The counters and tables were laden with both filled bowls and baked goods. Lorena was at the centre of it, her arms covered in flour, though her apron was a clean white.

She beamed when she saw Darcy. “Come, _mi amor_.” She beckoned Darcy over with a floury arm. When Darcy reached Lorena, she was greeted by the scent of freesias and a loaded dipping spoon.

  “Tell me: too much Cardamom?” Darcy obediently opened her mouth and accepted the spoon. A moment later, a rich creamy substance danced on her tongue, her taste buds singing its praises.

  “Mmm,” Darcy hummed, licking the spoon again for one final taste. “No, it’s perfect.”

  “I thought so.” Lorena looked so smug that Darcy’s lips had to stretch into a smile. Her boss gave Darcy an odd look before returning to the bowl of cake mixture.

  “Half an hour until opening,” Lorena said gently, mixing all the while. “Put away your things and come help me.” Darcy briefly wondered what Lorena was thinking, before tiredness pushed it aside, and she focused instead on stepping into the adjourning cloakroom and dumping her stuff.

She returned immediately to the kitchen and helped Lorena finish off the cupcakes, pastries and other desserts. Just over half an hour later, as the clock struck seven a.m., Darcy heard the sounds of Alex letting in their first customers.

Darcy was at the till today – something she was extremely thankful for. As cold as it was outside, it was more than warm enough in here, and the idea of roasting herself over the coffee machine wasn’t an appealing one.

She was just going to have to trust Alex at the machine.

To her surprise, the morning rush started without incident. Darcy took over forty orders in the first hour alone, and Lorena’s tasty desserts flew off the shelves even as the woman responsible for them blew Darcy and Alex a kiss goodbye on her way out.

Alex was being unusually quick filling the orders – something else Darcy appreciated – so customers were coming and going faster than they had on Wednesday. Darcy somehow managed to get into a groove, taking orders so quickly that she barely paid attention to the customers that made them. In fact, by half-past eight, she was running on auto-pilot, so she could be forgiven for not noticing the momentary hush that descended over Frappa Joe when two men walked in.

It wasn’t until they stepped up to the counter and Darcy looked up from the cash register that she realised exactly who they were. The two men were blond and dark-haired respectively, though both were tall and beautifully built. On any other day (especially if it had been a few months ago), Darcy would have given them second _and_ third looks, but this wasn’t any other day.

And they weren’t just any random guys.

Captain America and the Winter Soldier stood before her, both dressed casually. Bucky Barnes was leaning against the counter, eyeing the half-empty dessert case, while Steve Rogers examined the specials written on the blackboard above Darcy’s head.

The other customers were regaining their composure, and trying to do that whole _New York_ thing where they pretended not to notice famous people. Darcy still spotted several people snapping photos, though.

Her heart started pounding – an uncomfortable, painful sensation that Darcy swore echoed around the room.

_Oh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck._

Blue eyes finally met hers, followed by a coolly raised brow and a rakish smile gracing handsome features. Darcy ignored the look on Bucky’s face and automatically reverted to her training as her mind contemplated packing its shit and getting the fuck out of Dodge.

  “What can I get you?”

  “A whole lot, actually.” Bucky’s voice was a purring sea of playful, husky tones. His attention drawn away from the board, Steve’s eyes finally landed on Darcy. _Their_ blue was a lighter shade - crystal to Bucky’s mix of green and ice.

  “So, every drink we have then.” Darcy snark was so instinctive that she almost flinched even as Bucky’s smile grew more playful.

  “Well –”

  “I’ll take a latte to go,” Steve interrupted with a half-apologetic smile, before continuing wryly, “He’ll take a hot chocolate.” Bucky looked askance.

  “Like hell. I’ll have an espresso. Two shots and some caramel, please.” He shot Steve a quick look of disgust and then returned to smiling at Darcy.

  “And your names?” Another automatic question.

Bucky looked amused now, but he answered nevertheless. “Bucky - and this big lug is Steve.”

Their gazes were friendly (Bucky’s arguably more so, though that look in Steve’s eyes was unmistakeable), but didn’t seem to hold a hint of recognition.

_Thank God._

Almost dizzy with relief, Darcy wrote their names on their cups and handed them both to a gaping Alex, who was so focused on the two American legends still standing at the till that he almost bumped into the back counter as he returned to the coffee machine,.

Still too panicked to roll her eyes, Darcy turned back to find Bucky and Steve seemed to have made the counter their new home. The dark-haired man was leaning against it, looking as amused as ever, while Steve seemed torn between doing the same and stepping aside to let the next customer order.

_Get them to leave. They haven’t recognised you yet, but knowing your luck, it’s only a matter of fucking time._

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?” Darcy asked. An unconscious hint of snark entered her tone as she went on, “Some cupcakes? Directions to the nearest table?” Realising immediately what she’d just said to _paying customers,_ Darcy held her breath, but to her surprise, neither man seemed annoyed. Instead, a bark of laughter escaped Bucky, while Steve smiled at her almost appreciatively.

   “No, we’re good,” Steve replied, with a flash of white teeth. For the first time, Darcy saw that he was a lot more like his friend than she’d realised. Now it was _her_ turn to look appreciative, despite her still pounding heart.

  “Then…” she nodded at the far end of the counter. Neither man moved, instead exchanging glances that seemed loaded with hidden meaning. It was only when the customer behind them coughed deliberately that they left the counter, grins still in place.

Darcy wasn’t surprised when the customer stepped forward with a roll of her eyes. New Yorkers didn’t let anything get in the way of their caffeine fix – not even World War II superheroes.

A few minutes later, Alex handed them their coffee and Bucky and Steve left without another word. But when Darcy looked up, Bucky immediately turned back and winked at her. For the first time in almost ten minutes, Darcy managed to roll her eyes. As the door shut behind Bucky and Steve, her heart slowed and her stomach untwisted itself.

They hadn’t recognised her.

_Thank. God._

…

Darcy spent the rest of the day half-panicked. Stupid as it probably was, she feared that they might return – this time with an ‘ _Oh, hey! I_ know _you’_ or the even worse ‘ _I_ knew _I recognised you from somewhere!”._

The idea that they might get back to their famous home, the Avengers Tower, and recognise her _then_ also occurred to her, and Darcy froze mid-sentence, while the customer, an impatient art student (Darcy could tell by the portfolio he had tucked under one arm), grew confused.

 _What if they told_ him?

Paint-stained fingers snapped in front of her eyes and brought Darcy crashing back to Earth. She refocused on the irritated guy before her.

  “Hello?” he asked with a sneer. Any other day, Darcy would have told him exactly where he could stickhis fingers _and_ that _hello_ , but today, she just apologised and got on with taking his order.

…

As Darcy walked home that evening, she cursed the infamous S.H.I.E.L.D. leak that had dragged her identity kicking and screaming onto the web. It wasn’t that she was immediately recognisable – she wasn’t one of the Avengers (or even Jane) after all, but her photo was _definitely_ out there, and she’d been recognised on several occasions.

When Captain America and the Winter Soldier had entered the shop that morning, she’d known that if anyone was going to recognise her, it’d be them. They’d both been at the epicentre of that shit-storm and they’d probably gone over those damn files in the year since.

What if they’d recognised her?   

And what if they _told_ someone?

Darcy’s heart picked up speed as she brushed past her fellow commuters.

 _Sweet_ God _, I hope I never see them again._

In real life, obviously. Living in a world where the Avengers were A-list superheroes made _actually_ never seeing them again virtually impossible.

…

No such luck.

When Darcy arrived at work on Monday morning, Alex met her at the door with an irritating smile.

  “Your friends came by on Saturday,” he told her as she removed her coat. Darcy usually only worked on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays (with the exception of last week, when she’d worked Monday through Wednesday _and_ Friday), so she hadn’t been at Frappa Joe since Friday evening.

  “Who?” Darcy asked. She didn’t really know anyone in the city – no one she’d call a friend, anyway.

Alex’s eyes glowed and he practically hopped about with excitement.  “Captain America and the Winter Soldier.” Darcy’s stomach plummeted to the freshly-mopped floors.

  “What?” she asked, lips barely moving.

  “They – _Bucky and Steve -”_ he corrected himself with a proud smile, “came round asking for you.” Darcy felt sick.

  “What did –” Darcy cleared her throat, “what did you tell them?”

  “That you’d be in today,” Alex replied blithely, not seeming to notice Darcy’s panic. “They said they’d come by.”

  “Fuck!” Darcy swore as she fell back against the counter.

_This DIPSHIT._

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking concerned.

_Too little, too late, you stupid mother –_

“Nothing.” Darcy brushed past him, the taste of yesterday’s breakfast cereal rearing its ugly head on the back of her tongue. The formerly sweet sound of Lorena’s singing was suddenly thrown into stark relief, grating on Darcy’s nerves, while the smell of baking suddenly made her feel even worse. Darcy’s ears rang even as she consciously tried to walk steadily into the cloakroom, where she removed her jacket and deliberately put it in her locker.

She returned to the shop-floor to find Alex waiting for her with an expectant look on his stupid, _stupid_ face.

  “I think they like you,” Alex piped up, following Darcy as she headed over to the counter.

  “Uh huh.” Darcy was on autopilot as she wiped down the counter unnecessarily. Alex was silent for a moment, before he leaned in.

  “Do you know them from somewhere?”

  “Well, _yeah_.” When Alex looked expectant, Darcy tried to roll her eyes. “They’re Captain America and the Winter Soldier – _obviously_ I know who they are.”

Alex smiled again. “No, well _duh –_ but I meant _personally_.” Darcy’s heart leapt into her throat (for no goddamn reason, because it wasn’t like she was lying).

  “How would I know them personally?” Even to her own ears, Darcy’s tone was snotty. She made no apologies, though. Alex had _really_ screwed her over.

He just laughed, though, seeming to take no offence. “That’s true.” He fell silent, seeming to wait for Darcy to continue the conversation, but when she said nothing, her burning eyes glaring holes into the shiny countertop, Alex stepped away.

A few minutes later, Alex opened the doors and customers flooded in, bringing the icy chill with them.

…

Over the next couple of hours, Darcy’s heart made a new home in her throat. She was at the till again today, so trying to hide behind Alex wasn’t an option. As she took order after order, her stomach dropped every time the door opened, every time she caught a glimpse of blonde or dark hair.

Never had time passed so fucking slowly.

But the morning rush came and went without either the Captain or the Soldier showing their faces. When there was a small break between customers, Darcy sagged in relief as she wiped down the counter.

 _They’re probably off superhero-ing or whatever it is that they do with their days… playing_ Call of Duty… _polishing the Captain’s helmet._

Darcy snorted at that last one and put the cloth away. Relief, sweet and undiluted, was still flowing its happy way through her bloodstream, and she felt almost euphoric as a result.

As shitty as Darcy’s luck was, she should _really_ have known better.

Just as she was considering taking her break, the door swung open and let in two of the last people Darcy wanted to see.

Darcy barely kept herself from gaping in horror even as her stomach decided to drop it low. Panic, thick and nauseating, rose up in its place and closed its clammy hands around her airwaves. Darcy coughed reflexively.

Bucky and Steve, on the other hand, looked no more bothered than if they’d spent the day sunning themselves in Tahiti. Darcy envied them their peace of mind, because _this shit right here…_

  “Darcy.” Bucky’s smile was unusually cautious as he stepped up to the counter. It did nothing to calm Darcy’s racing heart, though.

  “What can I get you boys?” Darcy asked plainly, her nails digging into the wood countertop. It struck her that if this had been just a few months ago, her tone would have been _very_ different.

Like _let’s go have lots of barely-legal fun_ different.

Oh, well. Shit happens.

 _Happened_. Whatever.

  “A latte and an espresso to go, please.” Steve also sounded more hesitant than last time. As she wrote their orders on their cups, Darcy absently noted that Bucky’s Brooklyn accent was stronger than his blond friend’s.

Darcy handed their cups to Alex, who waved happily at the two men before heading back to the machine. She turned round to see they’d stepped slightly closer to the counter. Darcy swallowed hard, wondering what she was going to do. It was only a matter of fucking time before the shit hit the fun – she _knew_ her luck. There wasn’t even someone queueing up behind them, so she couldn’t use that as an excuse to get them moving.

So, Darcy decided to try something else. She’d read ‘The Art of War’ while in college, and so she decided to borrow a little something from her boy, Sun-Tzu.

  “I heard you boys were looking for me.”

Namely that the best defence is a good offence.

Bucky suddenly looked a little more confident, a small smile playing at the corner of his cupid’s-bow (yes, she’d noticed. Sue her).  “Less lookin’, more wonderin’ where you were.”

  “I don’t work every day.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Your coffee’s really something.” Steve stepped into the conversation.

  “Much as I’d love to take the credit, you have Lorena to thank for the coffee.” Darcy was aware that her tone was a little friendlier than before, despite the fact that her nails had returned to digging into the counter.

  “Is she around?” Bucky’s grin widened.

  “Not until later.”

  “We might just have to stick around then.” Bucky returned, his eyes darkening with undisguised interest. Darcy’s eyebrows shot into the air. Somehow she just _knew_ that he wasn’t really all that interested in staying to see her boss. The man was shameless – something she could appreciate.

  “You do that, dude.” But Darcy was smiling slightly. “There’s a free table over there.” Despite their banter, Darcy’s fingernails had finally let go of the countertop. _This_ she could do.

  “Order up!” Alex said from over her shoulder, holding out both cardboard cups. Being the closest to the counter, Bucky accepted both. Before he and Steve could go to a table, though, there was a distinct buzzing sound. Darcy immediately glanced at where her phone lay behind the till, but its screen was still dark. She looked up to find Steve eyeing the screen of _his_ phone with an annoyed look on his face.

  “We’re up, Buck.” He took his latte from Bucky, tapping away on his phone all the while. “See you later, Darcy.” He spared Darcy a smile, and then turned and started to walk out. Bucky flashed Darcy a wink, to which she raised her eyebrows, before turning and following the Captain.

The door swung shut behind them.

Darcy’s heart finally slowed even as Alex’s hummed tune rose up behind her, scraping its way across her still sensitised nerves. Well, that went a lot better than expected.

…

That night, when Darcy got home, she headed straight to the kitchen and made what had become her usual - spiced apple tea. As the kettle boiled, she ran through the day’s events – or more specifically, her Alex-sponsored run-in with Captain America and the Winter Soldier.

They’d come in, gotten their drinks and left. They hadn’t recognised her. They hadn’t even seemed to think that she looked even slightly familiar, but Darcy still feared that it was only a matter of time before _something_ happened. Before what happened in New Mexico and London followed her to New York.

But maybe she’d get lucky. Maybe they’d just think of her as the girl in the coffee shop who could banter with the best of them (something Darcy prided herself on). Maybe they wouldn’t mention her when they got back to the Tower.

_Maybe, maybe, maybe._

_If, if, if._

Darcy’s grandmother always said that if _ifs_ and _maybes_ were stones, you could build a bridge to the moon. The older she got, the more Darcy started to believe her grandmother was right. Then something occurred to her.

_They probably haven’t recognised you ‘cause they’re too busy dealing with their own shit._

Everyone and their Great Aunt Agatha knew about Bucky’s time as POW, about how he’d spent decades under HYDRA’s thumb. The S.H.I.E.L.D. leak had brought that to light, but the interviews he’d done months later, hollow-eyed and with a thousand-yard stare, had made that common knowledge.

So, though Bucky looked a lot better now, Darcy wasn’t stupid enough to think that you could just shake something like that off.

No, they clearly had bigger problems. A passing interest in her aside, she probably didn’t feature much in their daily conversations.

Darcy sighed with relief just as the kettle pinged. _Yeah_ , she thought as she poured the boiling water into a cup, _I should be okay_.

…

The following evening, Darcy was lying in bed with the heat on and Netflix as her companion when her phone vibrated against her leg. She glanced at the screen.

It was Jane.

A peculiar itch started up in the back of her throat. Her heart gave a sudden hard thud against her ribs.

The phone continued to vibrate as Darcy debated whether to answer.  

Four rings… five rings… six rings…

_Oh, fuck it._

She picked up the phone and raised it to her ear, saying in a falsely bright tone, “Yep!” An audible sigh of relief answered.

  “Darcy!” Jane sounded surprised and happy. “I didn’t think you’d answer!” Darcy’s palms started to tingle.

  “Sorry,” even to Darcy’s ears, her voice sounded stilted. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Yes, I figured.” Jane replied not unkindly. “I called you earlier, but you didn’t pick up, so…”

  “I must have been eating Lucky’s or something.”

  “Oh? Was it good?” Jane asked politely.

  “Yeah.” Darcy’s answer was short. It _had_ been, actually. Most of it was still in the fridge, so she’d have some tomorrow for breakfast or something.

  “That’s good.” There was an awkward pause. A small part of Darcy briefly wondered when things had come to this, before an involuntary yawn shooed it away.

  “Oh, were you about to go to sleep?” Jane asked. “What time is it there, anyway? It’s about one a.m. here.”

  “It’s quarter-past seven,” Darcy replied, not answering Jane’s first question. The other woman didn’t call her out on it, though.

  “Ah, okay, well I won’t take up too much of your time.” Darcy frowned at how awkward and unsure Jane sounded. It was unusual, to say the least. Even when she’d been the laughing stock of the scientific community, Jane had always had the kind of confidence that came with knowing vindication was near. “I was just going to say that – well…” She cleared her throat and continued, “I’m going to Paris next week for a conference, and I know that you’ve always wanted to go, so… why don’t you come with me?” When Darcy said nothing, Jane rushed on. “It’s all expenses paid and I’ll only be speaking for an hour or so, so we can spend a day or two shopping or something.” That small part of Darcy from earlier pointed out _again_ what an odd thing Jane was doing. Jane wasn’t much of a shopper - in fact, she’d always ordered all her clothes off the internet to save time.

Darcy would know. She’d done it for Jane a few times.

Darcy tuned back in to hear Jane still hesitantly suggesting what they could get up to in Paris, but before she could say another word, the former intern butted in with: “Yeah, I don’t think I can make it. I’ve got work, and...”

  “Are you sure? It would only be for a week.” Darcy still didn’t say anything, so Jane pressed on, “Actually, you could miss my speech, if you want, and just come for the last few days. You wouldn’t even have to come to the conference.” Her words trailed off, but Darcy was suddenly so tired that she was barely listening.

  “Sorry, Jane, I really can’t,” she told her with a yawn. “Maybe another time?”

There was a pause, before: “Sure. That sounds – that sounds great. I’ll speak to you soon. Maybe you can call me tomo –”

Darcy hung up.

…

For almost a month, Steve and Bucky came into the coffee shop. Their orders occasionally changed – Bucky tried a frappuccino once or twice and Steve ate his way through several pastries (at a time) – and they sometimes sat at the nearest table by the window, laughing and throwing playful insults back and forth.

Darcy’s relationship with them eased. As the days passed without Bucky or Steve recognising her as anything other than The Barista (her words), she gradually relaxed, and the three of them bantered back and forth while she either took or made up their orders. They didn’t seem to mind the resulting delays, though the customers behind them sometimes complained (silently, of course).

  “Here again? That’s the second time today,” Darcy said jokingly, as Alex handed her Bucky and Steve’s orders to fill. “This is getting to be a habit.”

  “Isn’t that how coffee works?” Steve asked, with a playfully bemused smile.

  “Aren’t there coffee shops closer to the Tower? Hel, aren’t there coffee shops _in_ the Tower? I’ve heard stories, dude.”

  “Not with coffee _this_ good.”

  “So true,” Darcy admitted, with a half-laugh.

Sometimes, they even _flirted_ with her – the playful kind of flirting that clearly wasn’t headed any further.

  “I saw you walking through the park the other day, Darcy,” Bucky told her once with a grin. He had both his elbows on the counter and was leaning half-across it. Darcy had raised a carefully unimpressed brow even as her stomach had dropped a couple of floors.

  “Oh, really? Just a head’s up, dude – stalking? _Kinda_ creepy.”

Bucky laughed. “I was on my way back from that Chinese place on Madison.”

  “D’ya mean Lucky’s?” Darcy asked, her fear subsiding. “I _love_ that place.” Steve smiled as Bucky’s eyes lit up.

  “Yeah! They’ve got the best egg rolls.” Darcy almost smiled as she handed them their coffee. Damn right they did.

After a couple of weeks, they brought a good-looking black guy with them.

  “Hey, I’m Sam,” he introduced himself with a bright smile and the kind of warmth you had to be born with. He explained that after devouring one of Steve’s lattes, he’d simply _had_ to come get one for himself.

  “’Cause they refused to bring me one, the little shits.” Sam had shoved Steve playfully while Bucky threw back his head and cackled. Darcy had unconsciously smiled, using muscles she hadn’t in a while.

And that’s how things continued. Sam started coming with them more often than not, and Darcy developed a rapport with him too. She noticed that the shop had become a little busier in the weeks since the three men had started stopping by – something that made Lorena very happy.

  “You three are good for my pockets.” Lorena laughed when she’d finally bumped into them one April morning. She’d been on her way in to do her afternoon baking when Sam, Bucky and Steve had entered the shop, and she’d recognised them immediately. Steve had beamed and gushed about her coffee, while Sam and Bucky devoured some Alfajores. “Feel free to stop by anytime.”

Darcy eventually got so used to them coming in that her old panic seemed a distant memory. In fact, something a little strange had taken its place, but Darcy was often too tired to examine it too closely.

Darcy still wasn’t sleeping much, so she’d started drinking coffee by the jug-full. The third time Steve saw her almost-empty extra-large mug, he’d given it an odd look and elbowed Bucky. Neither guy had said anything, though. Instead, they’d greeted her with their usual grins (one sly, the other more playful), so Darcy forgot all about it a few moments later.

Things fell into a pattern again. Darcy went to work knowing Bucky and Steve were just two of her regulars, served them coffee, finished her shift, returned home and fucked around on the internet for a few hours before going to sleep – only to awake a few hours later in cold sweats and with aching limbs.

It wasn’t so bad, though. Darcy had gotten used to it.

She spoke to Jane a couple of times too, though her former boss didn’t mention Paris and Darcy didn’t ask. They never seemed to chat for longer than a few minutes. Whenever it seemed that her former boss wanted to carry on the conversation past the requisite ‘ _How are you? Yeah, I’m good_ ’, Darcy always found an excuse to get off the phone.

Once, she’d just hung up on Jane, but could you blame her? Hunger and tiredness had Darcy desperate to sleep for just a few hours.

She hadn’t actually managed to fall asleep, but hey, shit happens. And the long midnight walk she’d taken around the district had allowed her to catch up on her podcasts, so _silver lining._

As Darcy said, things went on.

Until one day in late April, Bucky came in alone looking a little worse for wear.  He was in track-pants and a hoodie, which was unusual for someone Darcy would have called a twenty-first century version of a dandy, and his hair looked a little oily. He hadn’t shaved either, his stubble a dark shadow on his cheeks and chin.

Darcy frowned as he came up to the counter.

  “Just an espresso, please,” Bucky said in a gruff tone.

  “No caramel?” Darcy asked, but he didn’t even seem to hear her. His gaze was dead ahead, thousand-yard type shit. “Okay, no caramel,” Darcy muttered to herself as she wrote out his order.

It was only a few minutes until closing, so the shop was practically empty and Darcy was the only one working at the front. Alex was in the back, helping Lorena set up for tomorrow. As Darcy turned to fill Bucky’s order, she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with him. When he and Steve hadn’t shown up earlier, she’d figured they were busy. It happened sometimes; saving the world wasn’t the kind of job that came with regular hours. So, for Bucky to show up at almost seven p.m. and _alone_ \- well, that was strange.

Bucky and Steve always came together.

Darcy was tempted to ask what was going on, but it probably wasn’t her place. They’d only known each other a month, and light banter and occasional exchanges of small bits of personal information (the more vague the better) didn’t a friendship make.

Darcy turned back, Bucky’s order in hand, to see that his gaze hadn’t wavered one centimetre. His focus was almost eerie, his eyes an unfamiliar shade that was more green than blue.

Darcy didn’t like it.

  “Here you go: one espresso.” She held out the cup. When his gaze didn’t shift and he didn’t take the espresso, Darcy tried again. “Your espresso? Bucky?” At that, his eyes flew down to hers, holding her fixed. His eyes bore into hers for a moment, before he finally moved and Darcy was let go of a hold she hadn’t even been aware of.

Bucky slowly took the espresso and the rest of the shop suddenly came back into focus. “Thanks,” he said. He turned to leave, but for the first time in months, Darcy just couldn’t help herself.

  “You’re looking a little strange there, Bucko,” she half-joked. “You okay?” Bucky looked back over his shoulder, and Darcy noticed that his eyes looked slightly bluer than before.

  “I’m good, Darcy. Don’t worry.”

  “You sure?”

_Couldn’t help but push, could you, Darcy?_

But a small hint of a smile started playing at the corner of Bucky’s lips. Darcy felt relieved.

  “I’m sure.” With that, he raised his cup to her and quickly left. Darcy stayed there looking at the door for a while after he left. No, they weren’t friends, but for whatever reason, she was worried about him. She knew he’d been through shit and back and that there was no way he’d emerged completely unscathed. Even if all she could offer was an espresso (that he admittedly had to pay for, but hey, Lorena was running a business here), at least she could do something.

Darcy went to lock the doors for the night, making a mental note to see how he was doing when he came in on Wednesday.

…

But it seemed that Darcy wouldn’t get the chance, if that bitch, Lady Luck, had anything to say about it.

The next day, Darcy woke later than the usual three a.m. That should have been her first clue. Instead, Darcy counted her blessings and made to get out of bed, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness and nausea.

The pounding headache arrived next, with a screech of the tires and the smell of burning rubber. Darcy gasped in pain as she gingerly clambered back onto her bed.

She spent the rest of the day clutching her head in-between bouts of fitful sleep and periods of shaking that seemed to last forever.

Because, yes, this was her life now.

…

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the work I was talking about when I posted the last chapter of 'From A to Z'. I finished it over a period of 24 hours, but there was a tiny section in the middle that I left out, thinking I'd return to it the following day. I always told myself that I'd 'finish it tomorrow' - and the 'tomorrows' kept coming until a few days ago when I finally sat down and wrote that missing paragraph.
> 
> In any case, here it is. The work is complete and the second chapter will be posted either by or on Sunday.
> 
> This story admittedly features a slightly different Darcy than what I'm sure many of you are used to. Her experience with depression was taken from my own, so it may seem a little strange to some people... but, alas. It is what it is. 
> 
> It shows all the ugly ways in which your personality can change when you're having an 'episode' - through no fault of your own - but I tried to keep the 'core' parts of the Darcy we all know and love.
> 
> This work is also 'angstier' than my typical fare. I wanted to write something different from what I'd done before, so I hope that's what I've managed to do. You guys will have to let me know just how well I've actually done, but I personally think it's the best thing I've written to date (fiction-wise, of course).
> 
> I'll go into greater detail about my thought process while writing the story and what my aims were when the final chapter is up.


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